Creed Drabble
by Nilion Unlustig
Summary: Random scenes of characters from Assassin's Creed. Enjoy! Mostly going to be revolving around Haytham, Connor and a select few others.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Assassin's Creed or anything made in relations to the games._

* * *

From the balcony of a tall and old structure stood a man cloaked in draping darkness. Twin pure grey-blue orbs glistened, in what little light could be noted, as they peered at a brawl pre-set in the streets just below his perch. He could see the lean build preparing to strike, crouched, fists clenched and raised, body tensed. A smirk creased the lips, tilting them into a grim expression in the shadows as this man observed the soon-to-be slaughter he knew the warrior beneath would wreck on these British idiots. How foolish was it for rabbits to mess with a lion?

**"..'ey, '_alfbreed_!"** One of the goons mocked to the focused Indian surrounded by redcoats. He studied them with intense brown eyes, turning his head every so often to gaze at them all and make sure none moved without his notice.

This lad was the quiet type, but hardly a weakling. He was as ferocious as they came, precise, with a serious nature that defied his adult age. He was deadly. Most young men his age would be frolicking with the ladies, charming and bent on sleeping with as many girls as they could; or, have settled down to start a family. He did neither. This man in particular.. well let's just say he carried on a dark legacy his father and grandfather had been engulfed in.

Connor Kenway was no naive youngster.

Haytham had seen that personally. He was just like his mother.. Ziio.. The thought of her brought an ache to the chest that couldn't be quelled. It wouldn't be sated. That smirk dipped into a deep frown, concentration filling the hole in his mind.

**"I'll show you, ya mutt!"**

He shook his head, noting that while he was musing the fight had begun. Connor gracefully glided through the soldiers like they were a field of trees. His swords weaved, deflecting, attacking, slicing, blood spraying from jagged cuts set into skin. His eyes zeroed in on the almost.. fluid way the boy moved, parting the soldiers like a sea, leaving a nasty blood bath in his wake.

The boy was certainly skilled. A compliment of genetics he had gained from his parents. He had Haytham's tenacity, cunning and power, but Ziio's stubborn edge, her biting clarity and her sense of justice. He was truly a child of both worlds.. in more sense than merely that as his grandfather Edward had also been an assassin. A shadow in a world of light.. or, a dark stain on a white canvas.

**"You bla'de scoundrel!"** The way the soldier said 'bloody' was quite comical, an out-of-place posh accent tripping up his words.

**"This is surely a joke."** Connor said, a small pause as a reward while a new and fresh wave of _victims_ stood before him, the corpses of their fallen comrades a stark warning to these redcoats.

**"We'll make you _pay_."** A redcoat sneered, a flintlock aimed at the boy's robe-clad chest.

Connor smiled beneath the shadows of his drawn hood. **"I'll pay no piper on this day."** He whispered just as the finger tightened.

He moved. The idiot fired. It struck the redcoat behind Connor, who was dashing forward to slip his hidden blade's tip into the section that guarded the trigger, jerking the weapon down. He slid his dagger home in the man's stomach, twisting, yanking it out and shoving the guard roughly down to die painfully.

Once that action was completed another guard was thinking he could get the better of the 'distracted' man by moving in on his back, but Connor was well aware of the redcoat. He turned, having quickly sheathed his dagger and drew out his sword, slicing a clean arc up and across the man's front, catching the man's raised hand with his other arm. He bent the wrist, causing the soldier to drop the sword before turning, stepping back to bury the blade into the man's torso. He pulled it free and made his way towards the next idiot.

A brief swordplay issued before Connor saw his chance, slashing the arm and bringing the sword's handle onto the man's head to knock him out.

One more was left.. at least from this wave, but from the distance he could see a new one gaining ground to take a stand against him.

Haytham could tell the boy was tiring as he removed the last soldier from the equation, looking toward the next nuisance with a look of clear cut irritation, lungs heaving beneath that powerhouse he called a chest. He definitely wouldn't last much longer at the rate it was looking.

Just as the next wave was to be upon him a whoosh drew the chocolate eyes of the assassin to the descending figure that landed before him in a crouch, jumping up to slay the first of many that approached with a swipe of his blade. He backed away, turning briefly to address Connor. His assassin son stared in shock at the Templar Grandmaster who made his entrance with such a flourish at his front, almost.. defending and aiding him.

**"Haytham?"** Connor questioned hesitantly, tensed and clearly not expecting such assistance, especially from the likes of an enemy leader.

**"Connor. Looks like you could use a bit of help."** Haytham answered, spinning on booted heels to dash toward the next soldier who had drawn closer.

The soldiers had been momentarily shocked to see Haytham's elegantly clad stature, but had recovered and made haste to defeat their two opponents.. though clearly they knew not who they now dealt with.

**"I don't need your assistance."** Connor ever so careful insisted as he pushed past his surprise to also join in on the would-be fray. Haytham was already upon his target, jumping to knock the blade aside, slamming the tip of his sword down into the chest while knocking the man down before drawing it out to move on.

Connor met his adversary with a look of determination set upon his features, sword swishing to deflect blow after powerful blow the tall brute delivered.

**"Oh, of _course_ not. How could I have been _misled_? You clearly have this under _complete_ control. Yes, silly me."** Sarcasm dripped ever heavily from Haytham's mouth like vocal acid. This caused Connor to roll his eyes before bringing up his blade to block a downward strike. Muscles heaved under the exertion of having to block against such a powerful opponent, but with a great heave he managed to slip back, gliding to the side of the man to stab the blade into the man's hip.

A yelp followed the strike and the man brought his elbow down onto Connor's shoulder, dropping the stunned assassin to a knee with a hiss of shock. Haytham was at his aid, slashing the throat of the redcoat and kicking it away before hoisting Connor to his feet by a hand gripping the uninjured arm. Once up Haytham let go, stepping aside. Connor shook off the ache in his left arm, rolling the joint while he glared daggers at his father, who smirked before running off to help bring the fight to a close.

Soon enough they were down to a Templar, an assassin and four redcoats.

The bald soldier sneered bitterly, casting green eyes over his fallen comrade's bodies before advancing with a snarl of frustration and anger. Connor ducked the wide horizontal slash, stabbing the kneecap of the left leg before the man collapsed, slitting the neck to drop the man. The man fell on him while he hesitated, yelling a 'hey!' of surprise while shoving the man off. A soldier was already upon him, stomping where his chest had been; having rolled away to avoid the blow.

**"_Connor_!"** Haytham couldn't reach him, locked in a heated close-quarter battle with a tall redheaded man with brown eyes that were like damned pits.

**"Argh!"** The man jabbed his blade down, nearly slicing off Connor's arm; only managing to leave a cut down the side, sword embedded into the dirt.

Connor raised his feet, kicking the man away before retrieving his gun to silence the man with a bang. He reloaded as the third man, a short black haired warrior, ran toward him. He slid the ball home before snapping it up to fill the chest with it's component, the echoing bang sending streams of smoke into the air. The man gasped, falling onto his side.

The last man fled.. Haytham didn't even try to chase him down.

He turned to study his son, checking him over with roving steely eyes as he moved over to speak with the boy.

**"I could have taken them myself."** Connor started, face drawn into a blank form.

**"I'm sure you could have."** Haytham said mockingly. While the boy was indeed strong and skilled with assets that most would tremble to have aimed at them.. he was not invincible. That third wave would have conquered even him.

**"But.. all matters aside."** Connor cleared his throat, suddenly tensed and uneasy. **"Thank you for the assistance."**

**"Connor, while our paths mirror each other in one form or another.. I wish no ill will toward you."** Haytham explained, examining his son for a reaction, which he didn't get with the exception of furrowed brows.

**"Such is the words of the Templar Grandmaster."** Connor said, with no real bite to his words. Haytham could tell as much.

**"You really should reconsider, Connor. We are not so different, you and I."** Haytham started, but Connor waved him off with a sigh as he sat down onto a raised section of a rocky ledge.

**"Preach not to me your words of _similarity_, Templar."** A scowl formed on the assassin's face. **"We are indeed different, as night and day, and soon we might clash if we continue to be so opposing and conflicting."** Such wise words coming from one so young.

While he would have praised the boy for once using his brain he also wanted to beat him over said head with a brick until he stopped being so damned stubborn. Like his mother.

Haytham released a sigh of irritation, hands on his hips while he stared at the boy. **"Perhaps I can show you the truth to my words one day, when you stop making a wall and actually listen to my wisdom. Until then, stay safe son."** The Templar swished his cape aside, turning tail to disappear into the background of the outskirts of New York city.

Connor watched him go, blank chocolate orbs seemingly lost in time.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:** A much longer one-shot that doesn't really have Haytham in it as a major player, but he is mentioned and seen once. Thanks for all those who like it so far. Enjoy! :3_

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Assassin's Creed or anything made in relations to the games._

* * *

This blasted sweltering heat! It was accursed, the way the rays beat down like the wrath of god. And another thing! Why was the sun so damned bright?

A snarl ripped from the throat, eyes narrowed before the slim form retreated to the shadows. Oddly enough this man had allowed himself to actually drink- a wish he'd been forced into by a friend who insisted he stay and relax at his social party. More of a bother as he ended up drinking his fair share of some alcoholic concoction that had been given to him by James, a fellow assassin under Achilles' command, though recruit he was. James was actually a fellow Indian who merely adopted such name when people stressed over his real one. It was one of the various reasons the pair had gotten along.

Connor approved of the young man but his taste in drinks and activities.. were less than desirable.

This brought him back to the topic of why the bloody sun was effecting him more than usual; he had a wicked hangover. While he was no stranger to alcohol he didn't exactly have a tolerance for it, let alone an acceptable level for heavy drinking as had transpired. He grumbled his disagreement with his predicament, silently cursing James for his friendly pressuring. He'd have a word with the man next time they came into contact with the other.

He squinted even more as he realized his current target had pushed open the door, stepping out into the waking sunlight. The tall man stood easily over six foot, with a lean and yet dense build that betrayed his 'scrawny' frame. Tilbert McHale was not a man to mess with and rightly so, a cut-throat being among many of his garnered titles. Achilles expected him to take down this killer? Connor was a skilled fighter, don't get him wrong, but he had little experience when it came to people of Tilbert's caliber. He was a whole breed of his own, a deadly man the likes of an assassin, yet he came from neither faction truly. He was a middle-man, a Templar ally that walked the shadows with light as his coat.

Great, he'd have to kill the man- _with a bloody hangover_. Icing on the proverbial cake!

Achilles clearly had some faith in him to assign this mission earlier this morning, very much aware of Connor's condition. Maybe it was a test. He scowled as he watched the man momentarily scan his surroundings, not spotting Connor from the shadowy alley he stood within. The man brushed aside paranoia and strolled down the street, hands casually tucked into pockets.

Today Connor was also not in his traditional assassin robes. He wore his captain garb from the Aquila as it was more common for this island's city situation. Vessels frequented this area and as such it would surprise no one to be in that attire. He pushed past his barely noticeable staggering walk and willed his body to obey as he stepped out, following after the man.

Unknowing of the company that followed the man turned a corner, sliding through the thickening crowd like a fish in the sea. Connor turned, peering down the semi-narrow roadway spread out before him. He let his brown eyes flicker up and observed the buildings lining either side for signs of a threat. When none made itself present or known he walked on, trailing after the man.

He exited this street and arrived onto a more spread out area with people bustling about. Across from his position Connor saw his target walking. Tilbert was almost to his destination, a tall building the likes of an inn that had a sign just above the door. '_DEVIL'S DOMAIN_' it read. To be fair he was on the island of Martinique in the Caribbean so this didn't surprise him.

Someone was exiting the structure just as Tilbert was almost to the door. Connor stepped back, hovering at the corner of a grey building beside him. His heart began to race, his thoughts erratic, his headache growing.

It was Haytham Kenway.. Grandmaster of the Templars. What was he doing _here_ of all places? Coming out at Haytham's back appeared Charles Lee, his second-in-command and close friend.

The sight of this vile man, with the alcohol in Connor's system, made his blood boil. Oh how he wanted to end that man's life! People thinned and even from his position he could make out their conversation:

**"McHale! How nice of you to _finally_ arrive."** Came the slow drawl of Haytham, who seemed as if annoyed.

**"What, get stuck in bed with a harem?"** Charles retorted viciously, scowling as he wrinkled his nose. Clearly he could smell something on the man that he could not from this distance.

He heard Tilbert chuckle darkly. **"She came onto me. Not the other way around, gentlemen. Now, shouldn't we step inside and out of this sun?"** To make his point clear he turned, scanning the area. The pair also did the same, but didn't notice their lurking observer.

**"Indeed."** Haytham muttered before the trio slipped back into the inn.

**"If I'd have known you were here-"** Came a deep voice from behind Connor, yanking his attention to the form standing behind him with his blade quickly drawn. **"-I'd have joined you sooner."**

He was greeted by the short frame of a particular ally of his. His black-haired, blue-eyed and smirking 'friend'. Lance Aikens. Lance was a pirate captain he had met two years prior. Weary of the man they had pretty much become close allies as Lance was half Cherokee, half French. Connor was half Mohawk, half British and the difference between their Native American tribes was immense. Yes, he had gained a more.. simple name from his mother, who was French.

Lance was more talkative then Connor and at times it seemed as if they were polar opposites.. which was strange, considering Lance was a well known pirate of the area. By technical definition he was a 'privateer', but the man was a pirate born again, that much was clear, as he hated the British, hated control and pretty much hated governments. He was a traveler, a lover of the seas and a free spirit. He couldn't be shackled down by no man. Trust Connor, many had tried; hell, even him, when he wanted the man to join the assassins.

Claiming his love of the open waters of greater value he had declined the man's offer to join the Brotherhood. That didn't stop the two from working together often.. or crossing paths when it suited them. He.. in a way.. took the place of Kanen'tó:kon in terms of being close to Connor. Though not quite filling the gap of that betrayal he did help to soothe Connor's frazzled nerves at times. Who said opposites couldn't coexist?

He turned to gaze toward the inn and realized the trio were well out of current grasp.. He spun back to look toward his friend, smiling almost softly. **"It is good to see you, Aikens."** He said politely.

The man's smirk increased by ten-fold. **"_Monsieur_, it is always a pleasure."**

While Connor was quiet, reserved, cautious.. Lance was his polar. He was hyperactive, a Sagittarius. Being as independent as that zodiac sign was he was overly optimistic, had a good sense of humor (well, actually, better than good; he was a pun master), straight forward, intelligent and philosophical, casual, but restless, reckless and irresponsible. At times he could be unemotional.

**"To what duty calls your wings to the land of Marti... Martini..."** He paused, clearly struggling with the word.

**"Martinique."** Connor supplied in a calm way he had adapted when dealing with his more.. eccentric friend.

**"Ah, yes!"** Lance snapped his fingers, beaming now.

Connor gestured behind him toward the inn, watching Lance's ocean eyes flicker over to the facility with a curious gaze. **"To that inn? No, no, _monsieur_, the _Devil's Domain_ is.. _un désir de mort_!"** He trailed off in French, frowning now.

Connor didn't speak French and didn't dare indulge his friend with insult by pretending he did. **"English, my friend."**

**"A death wish!"** The man clarified for the sake of his ally.

Connor hesitated, glancing back toward the inn with a look of uncertainty before sparing his friend a frown of his own. **"It seems as though. My adversary is in the company of people higher in the hierarchy of the Templar ranks."** He said with a would-be scowl.

The color faded from Lance's cheeks. **"Kenway and Lee are here?"**

Connor merely nodded in reply.

Lance stepped up to him, placing a hand onto a shoulder before locking eyes with the taller man. **"You must wait for a more opportune moment, my friend, for now would be more reckless than me in the_ Battle of Notre Aviar_."**

Recollection of such a story was difficult, since it was years ago, but Connor managed to recall how Lance had looked when he came back- or, more specifically, his _ship_! The_ Lunar's Revenge_ had been in such a state of damaged goods that it looked like a ghost and it shouldn't have even been floating, let alone capable of being manned.

A bunch of British Frigates (HMS_ Jericho_, HMS_ Eliza_ and HMS_ Truth_) had been locked in a heated battle with seven French Brigs (_L'Guerrier_, HMS_ Speedy_, _The Crosser_, _The Falcon_, _Lynard's Trail_, _Viper's Tooth _and HMS_ Silverthorn_), four Spanish Schooners (_Cancerica_, HMS _Luminescence_, _Pilot Charl_ and HMS _Crystal_) and nine 'pirate' vessels, aka rouge ships (_Lunar's Revenge_, _Demon's Dancer_, Man O' War _Dragon_, _Blitzer_, HMS _Cardinal_, _Lanner's Rise_, _The Descent_, _Incadence_ and HMS _Ramrod_). It had been such a.. devastating, long and practically exhausting battle from the stories told of it.

Connor couldn't tell as he hadn't been there, but he trusted the crazed man since he'd yet to lie to him. That was one thing that couldn't be confused about Lance. He was honest- even brutally at times.

**"You are right."** Connor said softly, musing over his situation as he peered back toward the inn with a blank face. **"Once he leaves the company of the Templars I will strike."** He clenched a fist.

Lance placed a hand over the fist, smirking. **"With me at your side, _mon ami_."**

* * *

Several hours had passed and evening had long since settled over the quiet and serene city of Martinique. Connor had settled with his back against the wall of the grey building while Lance had made a resting place on the ground, back propped against the wall as he sat beside Connor. Connor, in question, was gazing dazedly toward the inn while Lance was peering up at him with a look of curiosity.

**"You alright? You seem.. more _tense_ than usual."**

A look of irritation crossed the assassin's face as he let those brown orbs shift to his friend's face.

**"Blame James for my current 'down' mood."** He merely answered with.

A snort filled the air. **"What'd James do?"**

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. **"He had a social gathering and forced me into drinking. Said I needed a strong one, but I clearly over did it."** He had a very clear scowl on his face.

Lance snickered then. **"James is an odd one, but Connor, if he forced you to drink, shouldn't you be resting it off?"**

**"Blame Achilles."**

A full on laugh escaped the younger man, who pushed on his knees to stand up, clutching his stomach. **"They got you all worked up, _mon ami_."**

Connor shrugged, uninterested in thinking on it.

Finally, in what seemed like forever, Connor noticed the door to the tavern opening. He straightened, moving from the wall to turn toward the inn.

Lance turned serious as he stood beside Connor, gazing as well with narrowed blue orbs. He nodded to Connor as the man trekked away down the side road. He sighed before saying, **"I'll head on ahead. Cut him off. _R_****_ester en sécurité_.****"**

Connor grumbled his understanding while Lance slipped off to another road, which connected with the way the man had taken. Connor decided it was time, checking that his hidden blade would be able to do the job as he flicked his wrist, the blade flashing before he shifted the hand, drawing the blade back in. His foot moved and he found himself falling into step many feet behind his target. Tilbert seemed oblivious to his presence as he weaved past people, heading towards the harbor way down below from their hill-based location of the city.

Just up ahead a form, with his casual brown and white garb that looked like a drunk pirate, moved out from the shadows to intercept the path of Tilbert, who paused at the sight of this 'drunkard', as he would assume most likely.. that, or trouble. Connor's ears picked up the confrontation.

**"Move, you bloke."** Tilbert's voice, having earlier been quiet and gentle, was now a growl of frustration.

Connor heard the sound of a slow chuckling, saw the glint of a smirk as the man turned.. and then Lance was peering at the man with that creepy way he could show when he was being intimidating. But, from the looks, this only served to further irritate the Templar ally than strike fear into his heart and mind.

**"Move, he says. _Fou_."** He said, 'crazy' slipping from his lips in French.

The man unsheathed his side dagger, glaring at Connor's friend with another growl. **"Looking for a _fight_, pirate scum?"**

**"I've not been one for looking.. I create."** Came the sharp retort of the self-proclaimed pirate Native American Frenchman.

Connor advanced, almost to his target.. but he broke into a sprint when he saw the man raising his blade as he prepared to fight Lance.

Lance peered over the shoulder of the brute to the running Connor, whistling loudly to distract the man while raising his fists to show that he was eager to indeed brawl.

Just as the man was about to dash at Lance Connor was upon him, but the man had actually side-stepped at hearing the swishing of cloth, sword flashing to instinctively block Connor's hidden blade.

He snarled at the sight of Connor, shoving him back roughly with his sword. Connor slid back, hood covering his upper-face. Tilbert glanced between the two, connecting the dots as he stood to his full height, smiling bitterly. **"I see. A distraction you were." **He spared a look to Lance briefly.** "I've heard about _you_."** He gazed to Connor then. **"The assassin that Achilles took in and trained."** He raised his blade, waving it in the air. **"I've been wanting to cross blades with you."**

Connor scowled at the man, tensed, half crouched as he prepared for the intense fight he knew was coming. **"If you know so much about me.. you know I am not one to trifle with."**

The man laughed, a dark sound that rattled the very air. **"As you should know about me, _assassin_."**

Connor wasn't up for chit-chatting. He wanted to get this over with. Lance pulled out his flintlock, holding it up but not aiming it at the man; a show that he was not as he had appeared and was ready to fulfill his words.

It was showtime.


End file.
